Murder in Whitechapel
by Joshua Kelsall
Summary: When Jack the Ripper is murdered who do we suspect? His money loving wife, her jealous sister, or even Jack's best friend. With so many suspects can Inspector Lawrence solve the murder? Please read and review my story. I will be adding more chapters soon.
1. Chapter 1

**Christmas at Whitechapel**

Edward was sat at his desk, hunched over, pen in his hand scribbling down on a roll of paper, a letter to somebody. Beside him, were several other pieces of paper, all of them addressed to the same person, all of them torn and scrunched into balls. Edward had spent along time writing this letter, for it was important to him. Strangely enough, he found writing this letter more important than work, so much so, that when he entered his shop ten hours ago, he had not opened it. Instead he sat down and tried to finish this letter.

He continued to writ the letter and so far he was happy with it. After writing a paragraph, he checked it thoroughly before continuing. He didn't want to mess it up. He was so immersed in his writing that when the back door of his shop creaked open he did not hear it.

However, he did hear footsteps moving closer to him. He spun around.

"Who's there?" he called out into the darkness. "Show yourself! I warn you, I am armed!"

But that was a lie. True, Edward did have a fine collection of swords in the back of his shop as well as three pistols and a rifle at home. None of these however, were reachable, for the sound had come from the back of the shop and Edward's house was several streets away.

The footsteps grew in pace and soon they reached the door between the front and the back of the shop. Edward felt a strong surge of fear engulf him like a raging fire.

He picked up the nearest thing to him that would come in useful in a fight. Unfortunately the closest thing to him was a sharp fountain pen that would not come in very useful if the criminal had a knife, or maybe a pistol.

Nevertheless, Edward inhaled deeply and quiet as a mouse, he crept across the room so that he was next to the door. When the criminal entered, if they had a weapon, he would stab the quill into their jugular, if not; he would try and knock them out. Since he drew in his breath, he had still not exhaled.

There was a clicking noise as the door knob was turned and slowly the door opened. Obviously the intruder thought he still had the element of surprise. Once the door opened wider, Edward saw a flash of silver and assuming it was a knife he lunged at the intruder, the pen held firmly in his hand he aimed for the jugular with all his might.

The intruder put up his hand to block him and pushed him towards his desk. For a moment, Edward caught a glimpse of his attacker. He recognised them immediately; he also saw that it was not a knife the intruder was carrying, but one of the swords on display in the back of the shop. Edward did not have time to respond, for the intruder charged forward, the sword held in front of him.

Edward yelled as there was a slice in his chest. He fell back onto his desk and he looked up to see the face of his killer. The next thing he knew he was gone. Edward's eyes were wide open and were looking blindly at the ceiling. His face was contorted in a mixture of pain and shear terror. Edward was dead…

"Inspector Lawrence can I have a word?"

"What is it Carl?"

"What else. A Man was found dead this morning in Whitechapel."

The Inspector sighed. Another murder in Whitechapel; did anything else happen in that cursed place. It had been a year and still the citizens of London regarded the police force as a laughing stock. Especially in Whitechapel for that was where it happened. The place where Jack the Ripper had killed, butchered, and terrified five prostitutes, the last of them a young woman named Mary Jane Kelly. This had been the only murder that the detective had been involved in. He had been there at the crime scene and the sight of what he saw scarred his life forever.

Mary Jane Kelly lay on her bed; her face was mutilated beyond any form of recognition. Her neck had been viciously severed and her organs had been ripped out and put on display around the poor girl's body. Her clothing had been completely removed so all of the wounds were in plain sight. The position she lay in made it seem as though the ripper had deliberately made her look like this as his twisted work of art.

The vision of Mary Jane Kelly's body had left such a horrific image in the detective's mind that he, according to conversations with his wife had been writhed in terror in his sleep. But it had been a year since and he had more or less overcome the goriness of Mary Jane Kelly's body, more or less.

"So then," said the Inspector in a low gruff tone. If it were not for the look his wife would give him if he returned home unemployed, Lawrence would have given up his job there and then. "We'd better get moving hadn't we?"


	2. Chapter 2

The two men sat in the carriage that headed towards Whitechapel. As Lawrence waited with baited breath, Carl ran through the details of the case.

"Well, his wife found him this morning," he explained. "She was the one who reported it anyway and…"

Carl spoke for a long time, so long that Lawrence found himself listening to only half of what he was saying. Carl had always admired how eager Carl was with the work, but sometimes it just got a little annoying. That was the only problem with the younger members of the police force. But their energetic nature came in very useful when chasing criminals, something that Lawrence was becoming increasingly bad at.

"Ah, we're here sir."

Both men stepped out if the carriage and as soon as he had done, the foul stench of Whitechapel made Lawrence's nose twitched. The stench of Whitechapel was the foulest of thing, even now it was almost Christmas; the foul stench would still never leave. It was the stench of death, vermin and corrupt crime. Whitechapel was the worst place in the whole of London, there wasn't a night that went by without a murder, robbery or vandal.

Lawrence would give anything to never go to Whitechapel for the rest of his life, not just because of the stench or because of the way police were treated. Whitechapel was the one place where the gruesome image of Mary Jane Kelly came back to haunt him once more.

"Right then sir, it's just round the corner from here,"

Carl led Lawrence around the corner to which he had pointed out and it led onto a busy street filled with people rushing up and down the streets some yelling, others crying, yes Whitechapel was always full of misery, even at Christmas.

"Right then," said Lawrence straightening his collar. "Let's get this over with shall we?"

Lawrence opened the front foor of the Alchemists and stepped inside.

"Ugh!" Carl wrinkled his nose with disgust. "That stench is foul!"

Sure enough, the stench of death, on top of the stench of Whitechapel engulfed the room. It was so strong that Lawrence could even taste the foul rotting corpse in his breath. It may have just been him, but he was sure that bodies decayed twice as quickly in Whitechapel. The stench was coming from the desk in the centre of the room, it looked out of place to Lawrence, as though it had been moved quite recently. But at the moment, the only thing that caught his full attention was the body that lay back on the table, glaring up at the ceiling into blackness. The victim's face was contorted with a mixture of pain and horror, his skin was pale and white. Sticking out of his chest was a large sword that had gone so far inwards, Lawrence suspected that it had gone right through the table.

"Any idea when this happened Carl?" Lawrence asked as he moved closer to examine the body.

"Dunno," Carl replied. "But judging by the smell I'd say a week."

Lawrence noticed the pile of scrunched up letters beside him and he took one at random and read it allowed.

_Dear Mary,_

_I know that you must be feeling really hurt by what I did, but I swear to you that I never meant to harm you. I just did what I felt was right. Those women were worthless, they meant nothing to me. I know what I did was unforgivable and t fills my heart with guilt when I look back on it. All my life I've been surrounded by women like that. Even my mother was one, I just wanted rid of them, all of them, but then you came back to me and since then I have had a change of heart. I visited the five women and gave them flowers; I apologized many times to them and begged god himself for forgivness. Please Mary, come back to me, and I promise that I'll never..."_

"The letter finishes there," said Lawrence. He took up another letter and it read something similar to one of the others, he must have read at least ten of them before he concluded.

"Well our victim here was obviously adulterous, and upon reading this letter it would seem that he met with five women behind his wife's back."

Carl raised his eyebrows. "Do any of the letters have an adress sir?" He asked.

"Yes there is Carl," replied Lawrence, smiling he held up one of the envelopes. "Let's go and meet our victims wife then."


	3. Chapter 3

"Good evening Miss Moore," Lawrence said kindly as the front door swung open. "You are Miss Moore, are you not?"

The woman he was talking to was supposedly in her mid thirties, but her wrinkled face and flabby skin made her seem much older. Her hair was curled messily and a shade of dark brown. She had many freckles on her face and wore thick-rimmed glasses over her hazel eyes.

"Alas no," she said, her voice was calm and soft. "My sister is out with a friend, do doubt she'll be back soon, you're welcome to come in if you like."

"Thank you er…?"

"Susan,"

Lawrence smiled. "Thank you Susan,"

He and Carl stepped inside and stepped through the hallway. It was a fairly large house for middle class citizens, though nothing too extravagant. The floor was plain, unpolished wood and the walls were covered in plain scarlet wall paper.

Susan Moore led the two men into the kitchen which was very large and full of cooking tools, from knives to sieves, rolling pins and other instruments that Lawrence had never seen before, he bet his wife would know what they were. She was an excellent cook.

"Would you like a brandy?" Susan asked once both of them were seated. Carl opened his mouth eagerly but Lawrence cut across him.

"No thank you Susan," he said. "We are here on a business matter,"

Susan's eyes widened. "Oh, well erm, I hope you don't mind my asking, but what business are you here for."

"We are here madam," Carl answered her. "Investigating the death of a man, you may not ask any more information unless we see fit to disclose it to you."

At that moment Susan's eyes became even wider and the glasses she wore made them seem bigger than her head. Lawrence noticed that there was a tear trickling down her eye. He did not speak, for Susan was crossing the room and she picked up a portrait of a man who looked a lot like there victim. She caressed it with her porky little fingers.

"It was Edward wasn't it?" she sobbed.

"Do you mean the man in the photo Susan?" Lawrence asked kindly.

Susan nodded her head and several tears splashed onto the photo of Edward making the photo smudge as she massaged them into the ink with her caressed.

"What was Edward's last name Susan?" Lawrence pushed on, trying to not notice her tears.

This appeared to be a good move, for before she answered, Susan straightened herself and wiped her tears from her eyes.

"Edward Nichols," she said.

The moment the word Nichols came into his head, the whole image of Mary Jane Kelly's body sprung into his mind so vivid this time, that it made him feel sick.

"Is everything alright sir," Carl said, putting out a hand to stop his boss from keeling over.

"Everything is fine, thank you Carl," Lawrence replied, steadying his balance. "Now Susan, did you have feelings for Mr Nichols? More than friendship I mean."

Susan gave a shriek and stepped back. "Of course not," she snapped. "I would never do such a thing, my sister got him because she loved him and I did not! How could you think such a thing?"

The moment she had finished speaking Lawrence knew she was lying. He saw the way Susan had caressed the photo of Edward; he even saw the sour glance that she gave to the picture of her sister when she put away Edward's picture.

At that moment the door came in and a sweet voice echoed in the corridor.

"Susan, are you home! You haven't seen… (She entered the kitchen) oh, I didn't know we had company. Good morning?"

"Chief Inspector Craven," Lawrence introduced himself. "And this is my partner Carl Collins. We are here investigating your husband's death."

Mary Moore seemed rather cool about the situation, she was a little shaken, but was no where near as distraught as her sister Susan had been.

One thing that Lawrence concluded immediately, as Mary came into the room, was that Susan was defiantly, positively jealous of her sister and nothing would convince him otherwise.

Mary was wearing a revealing satin dress over her slender and perfectly curved body. Her hair was a mixture of blond and brown and it was curled into thick curls that wound down past her shoulders. Her lip quivered slightly, but other than that, she did not seem in the least upset which meant one of two things: Either she did not care that her husband was dead, or that she was a very strong woman and judging by appearances, it could have gone either way.

"Well I can hardly say I'm surprised at all," she said curtly. "He did make himself many enemies, well that's if any of them found out what he'd done. But I think I'm the only one who knows."

"Mary!" Susan exclaimed with disgust. "How dare you say that about Edward!"

"Oh really Mary," Lawrence asked in a high, curious tone ignoring the livid look on Susan's face. "And what would that be?"

"He had been seeing other women of course," Mary said casually. "Greasy piece of scum spent a whole year going behind my back, with five different women for goodness sake! So when I found out I left him, and I haven't heard from him since."

"Well that's a load of…" Susan began but Mary held up her hand.

"Shut it Susan! This has nothing to do with you, now get out!"

Susan suddenly burst into a series of giant sobs and ran from the kitchen, tears splashing down her front.

Lawrence knew that Mary was lying of course, for the letter had told him that the two of them had been in contact recently. But before he could question Susan, Carl spoke.

"So, Mrs Moore, what friend were you out with?"

Mary replied with a puzzled expression. "What are you talking about?"

Lawrence could have promoted Carl, they had Mary now, hopefully they would force a confession out of her that very day. "You see Mrs Moore, your sister told us that you were out with a friend, or was it a customer?" when he asked that question Lawrence knew that Carl had gone too far; for Mary's face went purple with rage and her fury took away her beauty and it was replaced with the face of a deadly viper.

"HOW DARE YOU SAY SOMETHING?" she roared so that her voice echoed throughout the halls. "I AM NOT SOME COMMON WHORE FROM WHITECHAPEL! NOW GET OUT!"

Lawrence could have arrested her there and then, but from the corner of his eye he saw Susan watching through an open window. Before any further rows would insue Lawrence assured her with hast that they were leaving and that they would be in touch and then the moment they were outside, who should happen to cross their paths, but Susan.

"You saw me standing there didn't you Inspector?" she said quietly. "I assume you want to ask me something about my sister, well here is the answer. Two nights ago my sister met Edward at his best friends thirty-first birthday party. They had some sort of row and she left the party. She told me she was staying with a friend and would write to me later, so I went home alone. I spoke to Edward briefly that night and he seemed rather shaken, he was desperate to find Mary, he didn't see why though, that was the last time I saw him though," at this moment Susan's eyes began to well with tears. "The very last time!"

Lawrence felt a little compassion towards Susan. He handed her a handkerchief and asked. "What about your sister, did she really work as a prostitute?"

Susan looked urgently, with fear at the house, then she turned dramatically and whispered in Lawrence's ear. "It was the reason that they were divorced. I never heard anything about Edward having relationships with five other women. Never."

"Thank you Susan," Lawrence replied with kindness. "There is one more question I must ask you, did Edward always work as an Alchemist?"

"Oh no," Susan replied casually, yet with a little pride. "He used to work at the Whitechapel Infirmary, he lost his job though, I can't remember why though. Is that all Inspector?"

"Yes it is Susan, thank you, you have been most helpful."

Susan beamed at Lawrence and Carl. "Anything to get to the bottom of this crime, I hope you catch however did it, goodbye Inspector."

Susan waved at them both and made her way back into the gardens. Carl waited until she was out of sight before he asked with curiousity. "Why did you want to know where Edward worked sir?"

Lawrence's lips curved upwards into a wise smile as he spoke. "Because Carl, Edward is the only living relative, of Mary Anne Nichols the first victim of Jack the Ripper."


End file.
